A POETRY BOOK
 
INNERCITY BLUES
 
People
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered
Hauling the luggage of
Dreams, lost, stolen and deferred,
Traveling the road
of
Promises denied
And Freedman’s Bureau’s Exodus lies
Coupled with the Syndrome they did not identify 
until Stockholm crystallized
 in an epiphany of 
Volcanic recognition 
Summertime simmering
Perplex percolations
And complex permutations 
Synthesized into
The simplicity of the
Kill whitey
Burn baby, burn
Inner city Blues
 
And in a few years
 
Some of these
 Same people 
Would put their foot on the rock
 And pat that foot non-stop
Stand in a crowd
And 
Shout out loud -
I’m Black
And
I’m proud
 
With a 
Do You Hear Me?
Back beat.
 
The synchronicity of
Inner-city blues
Gave the ghettoes 
A new attitude